


Pale Blue Eyes (or Crowley Gets Bullied By His Bentley)

by n2natalie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Confessions, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n2natalie/pseuds/n2natalie
Summary: In which the Bentley has had enough of Crowley's secret pining and pity parties, and Aziraphale is mostly just there to act surprised the whole time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74





	Pale Blue Eyes (or Crowley Gets Bullied By His Bentley)

“Crowley, dear, you always keep this disk in your glove box, but I've never heard you play it. Why is that?”, Aziraphale asked, flipping Crowley's Velvet Underground Greatest Hits CD over in his hands, reading the back.

“Cause,” Crowley replied, snatching it away and quickly returning it to the box. “Every disk I leave in my car for more than a week turns into Queen’s Greatest Hits, you know that. Can’t go risking this one doing it, too.”

“Ah, a favorite of yours I see. Shame you can’t listen to it, then.”

“Mm”, Crowley agreed, glancing over at Aziraphale, only to quickly double-take when he found the angel already staring back at him. “What? Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason, just trying to understand why your disks are turning to Queen. Do you particularly like them? I didn't think you had any sort of affinity for them”

“I don't. Not anymore than anyone else does. Wish I could tell you”, Crowley replied, turning his gaze from Aziraphale’s and back to the road.

He hadn't realized until far too late, but there was a certain song playing round in his head. He’d been focusing on other things, such as continuing to drive despite the fact that the dial on petrol gage was pointing to far past empty, so much so that he hadn’t paid any mind to the song that was looping around and around in his brain until-

_“Sometimes I feel so happy…._ ” began to play from the radio. Aziraphale jumped at the sudden burst of noise, and Crowley immediately jammed his finger into the power button, fervently trying to shut the bloody thing up. He recognized the song immediately of course, and could already feel his ears growing hot.

“What was that?” exclaimed Aziraphale, who was now nervously fiddling with his bow tie, an unsure glance cast in Crowley’s direction.

“The Velvet Underground”, he grumbled in return.

“But… but how? You put the CD back just a moment ago…” Aziraphale trailed off, opening the glove box again just to check.

“I know. It was just stuck in my head. Happens sometimes”, Crowley explained. He left out the part about being vaguely convinced that his car was at least partially sentient and enjoyed bullying its unsuspecting driver.

“Oh… I- I see”, Aziraphale replied. Even after all these years, he couldn't fully wrap his mind around the relationship between Crowley and his car, and he was always finding himself surprised by what the Bentley could do, both for and to its driver. “Well, then, keep thinking it I suppose. If you can’t actually play the disk for fear of it… changing, then why don’t you just think the songs, and then they’ll play?”

“No, that’s... that’s alright. I don’t, er, I don’t really like that one.”

“Well, then just think of another- “

_“Sometimes I feel so sad…”_

Crowley was the one to jump this time, and he tried frantically to shut it off again, pressing the off switch so harshly and in such quick succession that Aziraphale was certain it was going to start smoking or crumble to pieces, but in response the music only grew louder.

_“Sometimes I feel so happy / But mostly you just make me mad / Baby, you just make me mad”_

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Crowley groaned as he dropped his head back against the seat.

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale asked, a strange mix of curiosity and worry coloring his tone. It seemed like Crowley and the Bentley were having a stand-off of sorts, and while Aziraphale wasn't sure what that would entail, he was certain he did not want to be in the middle of it, lest it cause even more erratic driving behavior out of one of them.

Crowley sighed and them mumbled dejectedly, “You know when you don’t want to think about something, but the more you actively try not to think about it the more you end up thinking about it? Classic case right now." The guitar break began to wane, and Crowley felt the heat move from his ears to his cheeks. “Look, just disregard the words, alright? Just, don’t pay them any mind, they’re, er, just coincidental, nothing to do with anything, and certainly not with you.”

“Certainly not-?”

_“Linger on your pale blue eyes”_

“Ah.”

“Errghhh,” Crowley let out a frustrated groan and shoved his foot down harder on the accelerator.

They sat in silence through the next bit, casting sideways glances at each other during the rather embarrassingly apropos second verse. However, by the end of said verse Crowley couldn't stand anymore. He was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and now it was being forcibly ripped from his chest and presented to Aziraphale on a silver platter. 

_“I thought of you as everything / I’ve had but couldn’t keep”_

“I can’t do this,” Crowley stated, pulling the car over violently to the edge of the motorway.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale called out, but Crowley was already throwing open his door. He'd given up on turning the music off, and if the Bentley was going to insist on torturing him, it didn't mean he had to hang around.

“I’m just- I’m just gonna stand out here, alright? Till the song’s done. I’ll just be right around back. You enjoy that,” he stammered before slamming the door closed behind him. He circled round to the back of the car and leaned against the trunk, listening to the muffled sounds of his recently demoted least favorite song blaring through the radio. He occupied himself by thinking of which London-area car dealership might appreciate a sadistic, manipulative, uncooperative vintage Bentley most. Or was there a junkyard anywhere nearby?

When it finally faded out, Crowley took in a deep breath and made his way back to the driver’s seat. He had every intention of starting the car back up and getting them to where they needed to be with no further conversation, but, of course, Aziraphale had other plans. Crowley wasn't sure what else he'd expected.

The angel placed his hand over Crowley’s where it lay on the gear shift. “Crowley, dear”, he began. “Is it true?”

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s eyes boring into him and it took all of his strength to not disappear on the spot and avoid this discussion entirely. In fact, he realized, there were many points at which he could have miracled something to happen, but he'd been to overwhelmed by his _stupid bloody car_ to realize them, and now it was too late for any of that.

“Is what true, angel?” Crowley mumbled instead, keeping his gaze very decidedly forward.

“What that song says. Is that how you- Is it true?”

“Angel, I _told_ you, it’s just a coin- “

“ _Crowley.”_

Crowley paused, and then, with a sigh, defeated, “Yes”, he admitted. There was little use in hiding it anymore, not after everything they’d gone through these past few days. “Yes, yeah, it is, alright? Can I please drive now? Great. Let’s go.” He made to pull his hand away to turn the key, but Aziraphale kept a grip on it. Crowley turned to look at him, ready to shout or plead or _anything else_ , but instead he was met with Aziraphale’s, fittingly, pale blue eyes. There was fear in them, but not the bad kind that Crowley was used to. Not the kind he was expecting either, the kind that meant _you're going too fast_. Not the kind that meant the angel was going to disappear on him again. More like apprehension.

“Aziraphale-”, but he was cut off by the angel’s other hand on his cheek, and then very suddenly the angel’s lips on his.

It ended quickly and it wasn’t any more than a chaste peck, but Crowley could feel his mouth hanging open. He reached his arm forward, pulling Aziraphale back to him and bringing their lips together once more. It was still short, but it had something behind it, a confirmation of sorts.

All Crowley could do was stare, and Aziraphale stared back. Neither spoke for a moment, and then suddenly the radio burst forth with a new song.

_“I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things / We can do the tango just for two…”_

“Really, dear? Queen again?” Aziraphale chuckled, while Crowley turned an impossible shade of red and snapped his eyes back to the windscreen. "I suppose that's another disk ruined."

“Look, I’m just- I’m having a bit of a moment here”, Crowley replied abashedly. He was, truly. It was a line he'd delivered once before, on a much more somber occasion, but he hadn't meant it so earnestly as right now. On one hand, he was trying to come to terms with the _thing_ he’d been hoping after for centuries finally happening, while on the other he could feel that old frustration bubbling up. He’d waited _so long_ , and here Aziraphale was acting as if he was _allowed_ to just _go for it_ whenever _he _finally felt comfortable, damn what Crowley may have been feeling. But then again, Crowley was used to that, to going slow, to waiting for Aziraphale, and he realized he didn't really mind all that much in the end.__

____

____

And then Aziraphale smiled and reached for his hand. “Why don’t you drive us to the bookshop now, then? And I’ll make you some tea to drink while you continue your... moment.” And Crowley decided all of those confusing feelings and thoughts and history could wait. For now, he just blushed harder, and with all the smile he could muster from under the layers of his embarrassed vulnerability, he started the car and drove them home.

____

____

_“That’s because I’m a good old-fashioned lover boy”_

____


End file.
